


Auxilium

by nightcourthighlordrhysand



Series: Feysand [6]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Espionage, F/M, bank robbery AU, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcourthighlordrhysand/pseuds/nightcourthighlordrhysand
Summary: Prompt: I may or may not have robbed a bank just now...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will likely add more at some point, but I think its fun even with only two parts

Hefting her overfilled satchel higher on her aching shoulder, Feyre pounded down the cracked pavement, sweat dripping uncomfortably down her neck and along her spine beneath her less than breathable business casual dress surely not meant for sprinting.  Shooting a glance backwards, she paused to pull her the heels pinching her toes off, testing the concrete and mentally sighing at the beautiful coolness it had, when just two months earlier she would’ve burned the soles of her feet hideously.  And just a month and a half from now, she’d lose a toe or two to frostbite.  So the gods were smiling on her _for once_.

At least, that was what she thought, until she spotted the meter maid trundling down the street, hawk-like eyes reading the time left on each meter, wicked ticket book in hand, ready to ruin some poor slob’s day.  _Not this poor slob_.

Hoping to avoid yet another ticket she couldn’t afford she secured her bag once again, gritted her teeth, and vaulted through the luckily sparse late afternoon crowd.  Between the various office buildings, coffee shops, and Hybern Bank, it would never be quiet until after business hours, but there was always a lull between lunch and five o’clock.  Which was exactly what she’d been counting on.

Sending a defiant glare toward her unknowing adversary, Feyre slowed to a stop near her car as the meter ticked to a blinking 0:00.  Pulling the back door open quickly, she tucked her bag low on the meticulously vacuumed carpet behind the passenger seat before circling the parallel parked car, mindful of oncoming traffic, and slipped into the driver’s seat. 

With a sigh, Feyre let her head drop back against the head rest, tossing her discarded heels to the right side of the car blindly.  Shifting slightly and pressing her slightly raw bare feet against the pedals, she rifled through her pockets, fingers finally closing around her keys - complete with her dorky artist easel keychain - when a rather definitive knock sounded at the window.

Groaning, she shoved the key forcefully into the ignition, “I beat you here fair and square - oh.”

Upon turning to face her adversary, she noted it was not her usual squat, ticket wielding nemesis, but a tall, dark haired man with eyes that could only be described as _violet_ \- a shade that had her fingers itching for her paints - and a disarming smile, creating the overall appearance of the most beautiful man she’d ever beheld.  And he was gesturing for her to roll the window down. 

Feyre narrowed her eyes, glancing toward slowly approaching meter maid in the rear view mirror before cracking the passenger side window just enough to speak and see those lethally gorgeous eyes that much more clearly, “Speak succinctly.”

His expression sparked at her shortness, if anything appearing more intrigued than offended, before he smirked in what she’d admit in the quiet of her mind was a rather attractive manner, “Any shot you’re willing to give a fellow in need a ride, darling?”

Brows shooting up into her honey colored hairline, Feyre bit back a smile, “Are you serious, ever heard of Uber?”

The stranger propped his forearms on the top of her car, fingers brushing against the slightly rusted metal detailing as he leaned close, “I think they’re tracking my phone.”

A tingle of fear shot up her spine as she realized how very likely that was, realized how many people were being watched and had no clue.  Internalizing her panic, Feyre shot back, “What are you James Bond?”

“No.”

Feyre frowned impatiently, “Oh my _God_ have you heard of sarcasm, prick?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then paused, fiddling with his ear - _what does he have fleas_ , and then ripped an _earpiece_ out? 

Heart pounding as she became more intrigued and considered whether throwing her lot in with this apparent enemy of Hybern could put her any _worse_ off in terms of enemies and lawbreaking, she glanced in the mirror again, finding meter maid coming closer, “I need to leave.”

He smirked again, “Glad to see we’re on the same page.”

“I don’t let strangers in my car, especially when- oh shit.”

Feyre trailed off as she saw that familiar blond head towering over the crowd exiting the impeccably shined front doors of the Hybern main branch, green eyes scanning the surrounding area carefully.  Unconsciously, Feyre shot a glance toward her bag nervously, before slumping lower in her seat.

Her - as of yet - unnamed companion furrowed his brow, “Are you alright?”

Jolting as she was drawn from her dark thoughts, Feyre shot a glance toward the passenger side window, “Uh yeah, just debating how much attention it will draw if i speed out of here with you being a drama queen in my wake.”

He laughed at that, eyes twinkling in a way she’d not thought they could given his previously shuttered gazes, “I’d be offended by that comment, but I happen to take particular pride in my dramatic abilities.  In grade school they said I could make it big on soap commercials.”

Her laughter caught in her throat as she glanced toward the crosswalk once again, “Oh shit, he’s coming.”

Running a slick hand through his hair, he sighed, “Ok look, there _has_ to be a way to convince you I’m on the up and up.”

She quirked a brow, inviting him to attempt doing so.

“Ok.  How about I’m like a Robin Hood type?”

“i just _really_ don’t want to be an accessory to armed robbery,” Feyre drawled with a roll of her eyes.

“I wasn’t armed if that helps.”

“But you did steal something.”

He fiddled with the collar of his close cut dark jacket, the expert tailoring practically _shouting_ money, “Yeah, but it was from Hybern, and everyone knows they’re dicks.”

With a groan, Feyre hit the button to unlock the car as Tamlin finally crossed the street, his long strides eating up the distance quickly, “Get in quick or I leave without you.”

Sending her a devastating smile, he quickly slid into the car, “Sure thing, darling.”

With a quick glance at the oncoming traffic, Feyre whipped out into steady stream of cars, taking a few side streets randomly until she finally breathed easier with relief, “So.  Care to share why your co-conspirators abandoned you?”

Her passenger let out a huff of a laugh at that, but answered nonetheless, “It was the plan, if I got delayed a certain amount of time, they had instructions to pull out and leave me.”

Feyre hummed in thought, sending him a sideways glance, “Rather harsh.  Guess whoever ordered that doesn’t like you too much.”

“Eh, I’d say I like myself as much as the next guy,” he answered, although his bitter laugh called his statement into question.

“Oh, so you’re one of those _chivalrous_ types.”

He laughed shallowly at that, but didn’t respond, letting silence fall as the faint strains of whatever station she’d been playing earlier eked from crackly radio speakers.  After a moment, he glanced behind, confirming they were in fact free of pursuers, then settled back into his seat.

The car came to a careful halt at a red light, as he spoke again, “Going to enlighten my as to why you were willing to leave me to the wolves until i mentioned Hybern?”

Feyre shot a sideways glance toward her inquisitive companion and found her gaze met with his own, violet eyes inquisitive and calculating at the same time.

“Like you said, everyone knows they’re a bunch of dicks.”

“I’m debating whether I should let that _obvious_ lie slide in the interest of not losing my getaway vehicle,” he chuckled

“Smart man,” Feyre drawled, unable to keep a small grin off her face.

Taking her answer as the final word - at least for now - he changed tacks, “So where are you headed?”

“I was about to ask the same.  Figured you must have a rendezvous point,” Feyre answered, pulling onto yet another side street and pausing at an empty four-way stop.

“Look at you already getting into character.”

Rolling her eyes with more affection than she’d like to admit, Feyre answered, “I’ve seen my share of espionage films, never fancied myself the unsuspecting secondary character who gets sucked into the main plot though.”

“I highly doubt you’d be the secondary character anywhere,” he purred, although the flirtatiousness failed to mask the undercurrent of truthfulness in his statement.

Disregarding the fact that she was fairly certain he _wasn’t_ just saying that, Feyre drove again, finding a temporary spot reserved for customers of the nearby businesses, “You don’t have to flirt and flatter, I’m not kicking you out.”

He turned to face her across the center console, “It was a statement, not flattery.”

“ _Sure_.”

Their eyes locked rather tensely until Feyre tore hers away, clearing her throat, and her acquaintance took the hint, although his change of topic left much to be desired, “So you seemed happy to see that blonde.”

“You’re quite nosy for someone who hasn’t offered me compensation to keep quiet,” Feyre groaned, pulling out from the spot as she spotted the bakery owner coming out to shoo her away.

Wrapping up his in-ear com, he tucked it into a slim pocket carefully, “Would you prefer awkward silence?  And as for compensation, I was hoping you’d take sexual favors in the place of money.”

“Yes to awkward silence, and you can keep your favors to yourself,” Feyre said with another roll of her eyes.

Undeterred, he plowed on, “I personally think this is kismet - two devastatingly attractive city dwellers become unlikely friends in the midst of a high stakes caper - the tension is palpable.”

“You really can’t ease up can you?”

He hummed, “It’s a gift.”

“Or a curse,” Feyre smirked

His eyes shuttered at that, but smile remained, however false, “Trust me I know what a curse feels like, and flirting helplessly in the face of you, darling, is not it.”

Tucking his reaction away to be poked and prodded later, Feyre answered, “I was thinking the curse was on me.” 

They shared a laugh until Feyre prompted him, “So are you going to tell me where to go or - ?”

After that, he simply gave silent directions, both too caught up in their swirling thoughts to keep up idle chatter.

His final destination not far off, Feyre finally brought the old car to a stop in a nondescript lot wedged between some abandoned warehouses. 

Just as he reached for the handle, the stranger paused, “I didn’t get your name.”

Biting her lip as she weighed the pros and cons, she finally let out a deep breath, “Feyre.”

Twisting back toward her, he offered her his broad, calloused hand and a slow sultry smile, “Rhysand,”

He turned toward the door once again, but she tugged his hand, pulling him closer to her, his torso perched over the gearbox awkwardly, “Be careful,” he tried to interrupt with a quip but she cut him off, “No seriously.  Hybern, they’re - you’ve probably made them an enemy.  And I’ve a feeling this was not some normal heist.”

Rhys’ mouth split into a smile that could only be described as dangerous as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling away barely an inch.  Their breaths mingling, he gave her hand a squeeze, “Oh trust me Feyre darling, I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have for now, but if anyone wants to see more or has prompts for what they'd like to see, let me know please!

Feyre managed to get through the rest of the workweek and the first few days of the next with minimal hassle, avoiding Tamlin rather seamlessly so as to avoid suspicion _and_ maintain her own sanity. So aside from Jones in customer service recommending a doctor that specialized in digestive health, Feyre’s antics remained undetected and her life relatively stable for post break up with a controlling ass who worked for the same business mogul turned crime lord.

Torn from her musings by the steady buzz of her clunky desk phone, Feyre picked it up on the third ring to be greeted by the always strained voice of Hybern’s secretary, Jane, “Ms. Archeron?” she began, barely pausing for Feyre’s confirmation before blurting, “Mr. Hybern asked to see you right away. He said it was quite urgent.”

After assuring the nerve-wracked young woman she’d be right over, Feyre let the phone drop down into the cradle with a clunk, taking a steadying breath and willing her heart rate to a normal tempo.

Not giving herself the opportunity to think through just how pear shaped things could be about to go, Feyre smoothed her rough tweed skirt and slipped out of her office, heels clacking against the polished marble as she crossed the main lobby of the bank toward Hybern’s office.

_You covered your tracks, no one knows you even suspect what’s going on – the strangest thing you’ve done is break up with your boyfriend…_

Feyre squared her shoulders as she reached the reception area, Jane waving her toward the imposing dark wood door, cracked just enough that Feyre could see she wasn’t the only visitor. 

After a quick knock to announce herself, Feyre pushed inside, eyes flitting around the room, taking in the polished black and silver surfaces, and the forms of the two men apparently sharing a relaxed conversation as they waited for her arrival. Noting her entrance, Hybern spoke in that _just_ too genial voice, chin perched on steepled fingers, “Ah yes, Ms. Archeron, I was hoping you’d work some of your magic with Mr.-”

“Rhysand will do,” the not so unknown stranger purred, turning to give her a sly smirk. _Definitely wasn’t a normal heist._

Quirking a brow, Feyre kept her expression neutral, professional smile locked in place, “I’d be happy to help you with all your investment needs Rhysand; and Feyre will do for me.”

“Lovely,” he answered, giving her proffered hand a subtle squeeze before releasing the introductory grip.

Turning his back, Rhysand shook hands with Hybern and followed Feyre out of the lux office toward her own.

As soon as they’d cleared from the office into the fairly busy mid-afternoon hubbub, Feyre dropped back next to Rhysand, hoping to work out exactly what the _hell_ made him think contact with her was a good idea, when that voice she used to love cut in, sending chills down her spine.

“Stella, how do you know Feyre?” Tamlin bit out, jaw tight, green eyes steely.

Rhysand subtly let his knuckles brush hers, providing unexpected comfort for someone she’d known so briefly, “Now Tamlin, is that how you greet your old friend?”

Eyes narrowing further, Tamlin stepped toward Feyre possessively, leaving her to fight the impulse to pull away and instead square her jaw and raise her brows challengingly. “I’d hardly call us friends, Rhysand.”

Stroking his smooth chin in mock thoughtfulness, “Well I guess that _would_ explain why you don’t know every bit of my business and personal life.”

Feyre bit back a laugh as Tamlin frowned, “And which of those involves Feyre exactly.” At this point he let his gaze drift toward her for the first time, expression a cheap copy of the affection that used to rest there – his face nothing more than a mask of bitter possessiveness.

Noting Rhysand’s intent to continue their little war of words, Feyre cleared her throat and cut in, “We really should be off Tamlin, lovely to see you.”

She motioned Rhysand forward and moved to follow when a vice like grip locked around her forearm painfully, “Feyre you don’t know what he-”

Whipping back around and glaring at Tamlin’s grasping hand, Feyre barely registered Rhysand’s hard expression, body readying to come to her aid, before she wrenched her arm away. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands off of me and leave your personal feelings out of the workplace." 

“Feyre we-” Tamlin tried again, a note of desperation in his voice as he let his empy hand drop. 

Closing the distance between them and lowering her voice, mindful of nosy patrons and coworkers, Feyre ground out dangerously, “There is no _we._ Not anymore. And I’m beginning to wonder if there really ever was. My life is no longer your concern.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Feyre turned on her heel and stormed toward her office, the clacking of Rhysand’s polished shoes assuring her of her companion’s presence.

They didn’t speak again until both were in her office, door closed snugly.

“Bad break up?” Rhysand queried, examining the small collection of ceramics that dressed her streamlined shelves.

Feyre quirked a brow at his rather invasive question, receiving a smirk in response, but found herself answering nonetheless, “More like bad _relationship_. Good break up.”

He nodded knowingly before coming to a halt in front of the painting that hung in pride of place over her too-full credenza. His violet eyes drank in the swooping strokes – blues, purples, shades of black blending together in a beautiful dance that mimicked the swirling night sky.

Studying it for a moment longer, he spoke, “This is wonderful,” his eyes darted to the corners, searching for the artist’s mark, eventually finding an ‘FA’ tucked in the bottom right corner.

Gesturing with slim finger, he turned to look at her over one broad shoulder, “That’s you, yes?” 

Feyre nodded wordlessly, stepping behind her desk, fiddling with papers needlessly, part of her hoping he’d drop it, but at least a small part of her warming at the idea of someone taking interest in her art.

“Where is it?”

“Just my head I guess,” Feyre shrugged, biting her lip.

Face settling into a flirtatious expression, Rhysand purred, “Well it must be lovely in there.”

Snorting, Feyre answered, “ _Sometimes_ ,” before changing the subject, “So you’re looking to make investments?”

Rhysand blinked a moment, then shook his head, eyes coming back into focus, “Yes. Do you have a note pad?”

He paused, gaze locking with hers meaningfully, hopefully, and she caught on quickly enough. “Of course, it helps to get your thoughts written out, yes?” 

“I find it’s best to keep them organized and catalogued,” Rhysand agreed, careful script blooming beneath his graceful hand. “What do you think?”

He passed the yellow pad across the desk, tucking his hands behind his back as she read, _Your office is likely bugged. Say this is a lot to discuss and we should do it over lunch._

Tearing the sheet from the pad, tucking the latter into her purse, Feyre slid the note into her shredder along with confidential paperwork she no longer needed.

“Rhysand, this is quite a lot to go over,” she shot a quick glance toward the clock hung on her wall, “Perhaps a working lunch would do, considering the time?”

“Sounds lovely, Feyre.”


End file.
